Diner
by Smrtypantz
Summary: England spots America eating alone at a diner and decides to blow on the glass of the window and write Alfred a quick little message...


**A/N:** Written for the USUK love weekend on livejournal :)

Based on a picture by kyuubimonster on deviantART, which I shall link to in my profile~

* * *

**Diner**

America solemnly prodded the French fries on his plate, shuffling them around with no intention of eating them anytime soon. He was in a bit of a bad mood. He and England had been fighting, _again_, which caused England to storm out of his house. America stormed out not ten minutes later.

Alfred found himself in a secluded diner a few blocks from where he lived. It was generally a lively place, but it was nearing 9 o' clock, so the entire neighborhood was practically secluded. No one was really walking down the streets, save for a few pedestrians looking to escape the cold and go back to their warm houses. The reason America was at this diner in particular was because England had been kicked out by the owner a few weeks before and told never to return. Alfred had _warned_ the old man not to have a drink with his meal, but did he listen? No.

Pouting to himself, America began stacking the fries instead, intent on making a little log cabin he could amuse himself with, trying to allow his mind to focus on something other than his earlier spat with his boyfriend. Just as he was busying himself with designing the chimney, Alfred heard a knock to his right. Turning towards the window, he saw England standing outside the diner, looking right at him.

Alfred frowned and turned his head, going back to his French fry log cabin. He didn't need to see Arthur's face at the moment.

Arthur sighed to himself. The git had turned his head and had begun to play with his food. England would normally storm into the diner to give Alfred a piece of his mind, but the idiot had likely picked this diner to prevent him from doing so. England began to wring his hands, not just from the cold, but from a slight edginess for what he wanted to do. The fight earlier hadn't been as ugly as others they've had, but he didn't feel like waiting any longer for the two of them to start getting along.

Blowing his breath on the window, England spelled out "I'm sorry" backwards so the bloke could read it. He tapped on the window again and averted his eyes, a pink tinge to his cheeks…from the cold, of course.

When Alfred turned around, he was surprised to see "I'm sorry" spelled out on the window next to him. Arthur was looking away and crossing his arms, most likely annoyed that he was the one who apologized first. America furrowed his eyebrows for a second before reluctantly blowing his own breath on the glass and clumsily spelling out "me too". The action was a lot harder than it looked. Alfred tapped on the window so Arthur could see what he had written as well.

England turned to see "me too" written on the window. Alfred was pouting to himself, much like a child who didn't want to say sorry but knew that he had too. Rolling his eyes, Arthur pointed to Alfred and gestured for him to come outside so they could go home together.

America paused for a second to try and figure out what Arthur's actions meant before realizing that England wanted him to come home. Alfred pointed down to his food, which still lay uneaten on the table, the owner of the restaurant nowhere in sight at the moment. England huffed and crossed his arms. Alfred looked around the diner to see if he could spot the owner. He couldn't just leave without _paying_, of course. What kind of hero would do that?

Instead, Alfred picked up his burger, intent on eating it as quickly as possible and laying down his money on the table for the man to pick up later. He couldn't leave a perfectly good burger uneaten, after all.

England watched the scene before him in disgust. Alfred was stuffing the burger into his mouth like there was no tomorrow. He blew on the glass and wrote "sloppy" before tucking his hands back under his arms. It was getting very chilly outside.

Reading what England had written, Alfred put his burger down back onto his plate. Picking up a fork and knife, America began to eat the burger "properly" to mock England. He took small bites and smirked when Arthur looked like he was getting very red in the face from annoyance. England quickly wiped out "sloppy" from the window. America stuck out his tongue and winked, but then continued to eat his burger like he had originally intended: quickly.

Arthur began bouncing on the soles of his feet. The temperature was dropping and he really needed to _move_ to keep himself warm. Running his hands up and down his arms, he looked back towards America who was still working on his burger. He really must not have been too hungry tonight, or else that burger would have vanished by now. Tapping on the window, Arthur pointed towards himself and then pointed his thumb behind him, a gesture that meant he was going home.

Alfred, finally realizing that Arthur must have been very cold standing outside like that, nodded that he understood. He pointed to his burger in a gesture that meant he would finish eating it in the diner. England nodded in response.

Arthur began to walk away, but a lingering feeling encompassed him. Turning back, England approached the window and blew into the glass once more. He drew a heart and knocked on the window so Alfred could turn and see. He knew he was blushing, so he averted his eyes.

Hearing the knock, Alfred looked to his right to see a heart drawn out on the window pane. He was a bit surprised at first, but the heart Arthur drew left a warm feeling in his stomach. It was always so hard for the stuffy old man to admit to any sort of affection he had for America, so whenever he did something as small as this gesture, it managed to make Alfred very happy. Smiling brightly, America blew on the glass himself and drew a heart as well. When Arthur saw the heart, the smallest of smiles graced his lips.

Arthur would never admit that he was actually happy, but he would admit that he was feeling a lot better than before. Waving to Alfred, he turned around and began walking back to the house. _Perhaps I should do these sorts of things more often…_ he thought to himself, contemplating what Alfred's expression would look like if he decided to write "I love you" on the bathroom mirror for when America came home…

* * *

**A/N:** I hope you enjoyed. Critiques are loved, as always ^^


End file.
